


it's what i'm here for, right?

by ghoultown



Category: Barry (HBO), Barry (TV 2018)
Genre: Acting be like, Angst, Barry (HBO) - Freeform, Barry Berkman needs a hug, Canon Compliant, Dialogue from Show, F/M, First Barry Fic, Internal Conflict, S1E5, S1E7, S2E3, Several Chapters, UNTIL THE LAST CHAPTER, angsty, let barry be happy, oh no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 15:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19153486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoultown/pseuds/ghoultown
Summary: “I know! I get it, you don’t  have to hurt me, it’s just acting!” She says. Barry stills. She doesn’t understand. She thinks he’s overreacting. Barry can’t breathe. “It’s just to - ““Do you see me?” Barry holds his arms out. “I need you to tell me that you can.”“I… yeah, Barry, I can see you,” she blinks a few times, shrugging.or, the one where sally prioritizes acting over barry and barry wants sally to just see him for once.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> first barry fic!!!!oh no. hope it makes sense.

Barry can’t stop staring out at the class. He clutches the script to his chest, fingers scratching the back cover, as they talk. They keep _talking_. They don’t know _anything._ They know nothing about guilt beyond the occasional side-step around their friends to get the part they wanted.

“That’s what the spot is,” Sasha says, “Like, Lady Macbeth thought that she could kill whoever she wanted to kill to be in charge and then just move on. But she can’t.”

Barry had just worked up the courage to look at his feet, but the words pulled his attention back in.

“You know, like, because once you start killing, you can never go back.” He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. She continues, “That’s what the stain is. She’s stained forever.”

He hears his voice through the rush of blood, “I’m not sure that’s true.” He masks the strain behind a nervous smile and laugh.

“No, it is,” says Antonio. Barry closes his mouth. “Her soul is fucked, as well as Macbeth’s.”

“Yeah,” says Sasha. She laughs. _She laughs._

“Lady Macbeth just ordered the murder, but he actually carried that shit out,” Jermaine says.

Barry is drowning on land. “Right, but it was her idea though, you know?”

Blank stares. Sally looks offended.

“Like, so… sh-she… she made him do it.”

“So what? So he’s off the hook?” Sally asks. She gestures to the class as if to rally them against him. He’s still confused by her coldness toward him.

“Yeah, I mean,” Barry looks at her, wishing she could know, “I don’t think he’s gonna be messed up for life.”

“Did you read the end of the play?” The class laughs.

Sally stops them, “He’s a murderer.”

Barry wants to tell her. “No, he was following orders.” _It’s Fuche- no, it’s Lady Macbeth’s fault, Sally._ “Sometimes you just have to shut up and do your job…”

“Yeah, but doesn’t Macbeth have free will? Like, he doesn’t have to take Lady Macbeth’s orders. He can stand up for himself!”

“Yeah!” says the class, sitting in the dark. “We’d all do that!”

“I dis-I disagree, I guess.” It’s hard to speak. He can feel Sally’s eyes. “I feel like Shakespeare whiffed it on this one.”

Sally laughs again and it’s mean and it hurts. “Oh my God! Are we really debating the morality of murder?”

Sally says something else too. But Barry can’t hear anymore. He’s just staring, trying to read her lips. All he can hear is the noise of a gunshot. He can hear the clamor of his military buddies under the noise of someone choking on their own blood last night.

“Macbeth is a murderer - “

“Yeah, well, I guess then so am I. Right?” His eyes can’t stay on her for too long or he’ll lose it. “I mean, I’ve killed people.”

Mr. Cousineau watches him with those wise eyes and Sally looks to the class in uncomfortable surprise.

“What? I should go blow my brains out? ‘Cause there’s no hope for me, right?” He can feel his humanity sink back into his throat like it does when his finger is tight on the trigger. He’s not Barry Block, right now. “My soul’s fucked because I was ordered to kill someone and I did it?” He can’t breathe. “You know, it doesn’t make me a psycho.”

 _No, Barry, you’re overreacting_. Someone outside his head says it, he doesn’t know who, but it sounds so much like the things he’s heard in the back of his mind for years. _We didn’t say you’re a psycho._

 _“You all just said that!”_ he yells like he does at Fuches, like he does when he needs to, and he can’t help but smile because they have been this whole time. “Am I wrong? Isn’t that what you guys are saying - I’m a fucking psycho? It’s exactly what you fuckin’ said.”

Sasha leans back in her chair and crosses her arms, searching for someone else who feels what she does. Guilt.

“It’s really easy for you guys to _sit_ here and weigh in on some shit that you don’t know about, but it’s, um…” His lips curl up like he might throw up. He thinks about it. He needs to calm down. “It’s fucking lame. An-And it’s not true.”

Mr. Cousineau steps in to calm him down. Tells him to take a breath. His nails leave crescent shapes in the cover of the script as he retracts them. “I think that Barry is relating to his experience in the military, which is completely justifiable.”

_NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, says Barry’s mind._

Mr. Cousineau salutes him and thanks him for his service, but Barry can’t look at him. He just keeps scanning the class and focusing on his breathing.

“But! I think that you will all agree with me that, uh… if you kill outside of war, you’re a fuckin’ psycho. I mean, then you’re irredeemable. Am I right?”

Everyone nods. Barry wants to crawl into the front seat of his car and drive it off a ravine. Everyone walks upstairs to engage in mirror exercises but Barry leaves. He gets in his car and he drives for an hour, yelling at his windshield, before returning home for dinner.

While Fuches tries to strike up a conversation, he stays silent. Barry thinks about Sally. It’s all he does, now. He thinks about kissing her. He thinks about waking up the morning after and watching her get dressed for a role. He thinks about how she didn’t seem interested in him anymore. He thinks about how she practically pushed him out the door. Hee thinks about watching her touch that Pinocchio guy, and he thinks about her yelling at him, and then he thinks about how she told him she doesn’t want to talk to him anymore. With every thought, he grips his knife tighter.

Finally, he thinks about Sally an hour ago. How she stood and she called him a murderer. Not _him_ , but still him nonetheless. He goes to his happy place. Sally is standing in their shared living room with curlers in her hair with a can of gasoline, pouring it on the couch and muttering. He looks down and sees that he’s holding a lighter.

He grips the knife in his hand and slams it down. His plate shatters. One of the shards clips his arm. He stands so quickly his chair is knocked back. It clatters on the hard floor.

“You okay, there, Barry?” Fuches asks.

“I’m tired,” Barry says. He crawls into bed and burrows under the stiff comforter.

 


	2. Chapter 2

On the car ride to the theater, he can’t stop thinking about Chris. He’d never wanted to see what the inside of Chris’ brains looked like, but now he knew and he would never not know. The noise of Chris begging for his life is still loud. He gnaws on his fingers as he walks up to the back entrance. 

_ No one will ever know - no, wait! W-wait! Wait!!! _

He pushes the door open. Sally looks up at him and smiles for just a moment, “You’re here!”

“Where is everybody?” He limps down the stairs. 

She cuts him off, “And you’re not in costume.” She practically hisses at him.  “ _ Fuck it. _ ”

She claws through the rack of clothes as he looks over her shoulder, “I’m supposed to wear a costume?”

“We’re up,” she’s frantic, grabbing a random jacket with tassels. She tosses it at him. “Here. Here, put this on. It’s… something.” Sally rushes toward the curtain, looking back at him. He stares. “Come on, it’s places. Now!”

He follows her as she jogs to the curtain. She points out some agent,  _ always with the agents,  _ and puts the weight of her future on his back. Again, it feels like. As if Barry doesn’t have anything on his shoulders already. As if he’s just a character in her life and when she leaves the room, he just sits and waits for her to return. He’s  _ tired. _

“Please, please,  _ please,  _ just… give me something to work with,” she smiles, “Can you do that?”

Barry stares at her. He wasn’t listening. He couldn’t over the noise of Chris between his ears.. “I’m sorry, what?”

“ _ Fuck! _ ” She’s disappointed. “Just, whatever.” She sighs. 

She enters the stage as Nick stumbles off of it, shedding his costume and complaining. 

Barry squeezes his eyes closed, “My Lord, the Queen is dead. My Lord, the Queen is dead. My Lord…”

_ Chris and his family. A family portrait. _

“My Lord… The Queen…” Barry paces. “Fuck!”

_ A phone rings. _

“My Lord, the Queen is dead.”

_ Again. A hand reaches for it.  _

Barry whimpers. “My Lord…”

_ Chris’ wife smiles, holding the phone to her ear, “Hello?” _

Barry tries to escape it. He looks toward the stage, tries to focus on Sally. 

_ “Yes, this is she!” Her eyebrows furrow. _

The tears build up in Barry’s eyes until Sally is just a yellowed blur. He closes them and tries to shake it away. 

_ “...What?”  _

Barry slams his hands against his temples. One, two, three, four, five. Quick and hard. He can’t breathe. 

_ She’s on the floor of the kitchen. Crying into the receiver. Her son is in the next room. The kitchen is bright and green and spotless. _

Barry takes the stupid jacket off. “My Lord, the Queen is dead.”

_ “Mom?” The boy asks. She can’t speak, choked by sobs. _

Barry’s fist hits his head. He curses. 

_ A military burial. The wife and son wear black. Barry isn’t at the burial. A phone rings. _

“Stopstopstopstopstop,” Barry murmurs. He tries to breathe. He hits his head again. 

_ The son holds his hands out to take the folded flag.  _

Barry grabs the table next to him and jostles it. It’s loud. Sally can’t hear it over her monologue. She can never hear him. She never tries. 

“...cannot once start me.” The monologue is over. Sally takes a breath, her hands still posed in the air. Barry should have entered, there. She looks over to where he should be. He’s hunched over the table, knuckles white, shoulders shaking. 

He turns. He walks slowly to his place. His shirt is stained with tears and his cheeks are red. He takes a shuttered breath. 

“My Lord, the Queen is dead.”

He turns, unable to hold the weight of everything anymore, and leaves. She watches him go, stiff and crushed, before continuing. 

Before she knows it, the music is swelling. The class joins her on stage, Mr. Cousineau leads the standing ovation. She smiles, because she is happy, because she knows the agent witnessed her greatest performance to date. She forgets for a moment about Barry. They all forget, for a moment, about Barry.

Barry forgets about them. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and walks blindly into a room. His fists are tight as they withdraw from his face, and he hears one person’s applause behind him. 

“Barry!” Mr. Cousineau found him. “Bravo.”

Barry braces himself on the wall, one hand on his hip, trying to regain his breath. Chris is there in his head, presence like a bullet. He wants to stop, but he can’t. 

Mr. Cousineau keeps walking closer, talking. But Barry Block has jumped out of the moving vehicle, and Barry Berkman was all that was left. His jaw was clenching and his mouth was puckered and he was… enraged. He was tired, he was broken, he was  _ angry.  _ At himself. At Sally. At Sally for using him as her personal eyedrop bottle. At himself for even coming to the stupid play. He had one line.  _ One line.  _

Barry shakes his hands. His skin is so warm he’s afraid he might catch on fire. He looks up to the ceiling. 

“I don’t know if you can do it again,” Mr. Cousineau says. “But it was  _ amazing - “ _

He doesn’t want to do it again. His control is gone. His friend is gone. He doesn’t want to kill anymore. But it’s him. It’s the only part of him, now. 

Barry screams. He throws his fist into a picture frame and digs his fingernails into his palms. As soon as he yells, he retreats. He drags Barry Block back into the passenger seat and lays in front of the car. He poises his neck under the tire. 

Mr. Cousineau blinks. His praise withdraws and he looks at Barry with questions and fear. He goes to leave, but offers “notes.” Acting notes. 

Barry grabs the back of the chair and throws it across the room. He yells. It crashes against the farthest wall. Mr. Cousineau runs. Barry slumps into a chair, catching his breath, begging for Block to run him over so that he can stop this. 

_ My soul’s fucked. I’m a fuckin’ psycho. I’m irredeemable. I’m fucked. I’m a murderer. I’m just an extra. I'm not even a supporting actor. _

Barry Block just puts the car in reverse. He is merciful. Barry looks at his hand and sighs, grabbing a random green scarf to wrap it. He follows the noise of people to the dressing room. He stands in the dark for a moment, watching them, clutching his hand to his chest and wishing he could be like them. Anyone but Barry.

He moves to leave. He doesn’t want anyone to see him, but he practically runs into Sally. She clutches a business card to her chest, nodding vehemently to the agent she was so eager to impress. Barry lets the weight of her stress fall with a thud onto the stage. His is too heavy, now, to welcome company. He watches her thank the man as he walks away. 

He stands still as she runs up to him. She is happy. It’s all he’s ever wanted, for her to be happy. Barry can’t hear her, but he knows what she’s saying. She says thank you, he knows that. 

“Thank you for doing that for me. Oh, my God, that was amazing!”

Barry wishes he hadn’t. He just looks at her. He wishes she saw him. Because he thinks he looks sad. But she doesn’t seem to know that. She says he is generous. 

“You are a real actor.”

Barry wakes up. He leans closer, hoping he heard her right. “I am?” He is exhausted. And his hand aches.

“Yes! I mean, whatever you did tonight to get to that place, that’s your new process, okay? All you have to do is do that every time.”

Barry suddenly feels cold. His eyes lock onto a chair in the audience as she kisses his cheek. He can’t really feel it. He’s glad he didn’t.

She leaves. He thinks she invites him for drinks, but he isn’t sure. He just looks out at the audience. Barry can’t seem to find his happy place. He wonders if he lit the match. 


	3. Chapter 3

 

“Are you sure you’re comfortable with this?”

Barry asks because he is not comfortable with this. He’s read the script. He’s heard Sally talk about it a lot, he knows what’s in the script. It’s not good. It’s… violent. He doesn’t want to be violent. He loves her, he only wants to make her happy.

“Oh, my God, totally.” She seems sure. “Barry, you’re nothing like Sam. Like, at all.”

Barry nods.  _ I’m worse. _

“If anything, I’m more comfortable with you doing it.” She smiles and Barry tries to relax. “Hey, this is a really good stretch for you.” Mr. Cousineau stands behind her, he seems sure as well. He looks between them, intently. “Try to access some rage, you know?”

Barry looks to the side. He’s already done that for her. He doesn’t want to do that anymore. 

“Okay?” She looks down to her script. She’s ready. Barry tries. He doesn’t want to.

“Where do you want me to start?” He doesn’t want to do this. But he will.

“Oh, sorry. Top of two.”

He takes a deep breath. He wets his lips. “Why were you dancing with that guy?”

“Ken? He’s just a friend, Sam.”

Barry looks to the script. It’s almost like he’s chewing the words. “I don’t care. I don’t like it. It was embarrassing…” He can feel everyone looking at him. He doesn’t want to say these things to Sally. “You look like a whore.” He spits it out quick and hopes Sally doesn’t notice.

“Can you try it again and just, like, really  _ nail  _ me with the word ‘whore?’” She’s trying to be constructive and Barry would usually appreciate it. “Really just come at me, you know?” She smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Okay.”

He tries it again. She continues. He wants to vomit.

“Don’t be an idiot,” she says passionately.

“Don’t call me a fucking idiot,” he reads without emotion. He screws his jaw up, his lips pursed. He sighs, “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this.”

“Why?” Mr. Cousineau leans closer. 

“This says I choke her,” he turns to Sally, “This says I  _ choke  _ you.”

She nods, “Mmhmm!”

“I don’t know if I can do that. I don’t know if I can choke you.” He looks at her, pleading, though his voice is monotonous. 

“Oh, that’s really sweet, Barry, but I’ve done, like, years of stage combat. It’s fine.”

Mr. Cousineau steps closer. “You know what? That is so sweet, but what you need to do if you’re going to be in the scene… is you need to  _ act. _ I need to see you  _ acting _ .”

They both look at him with those actor-eyes. Like he’s stupid for not wanting to do this.

“Yeah, if you don’t choke me, then it doesn’t make sense when I say  _ you wanna choke me, you coward? Well, choke on this. I’m fucking leaving you!  _ So…”

Barry stares at the words as she says them, his mouth puckered. He doesn’t want to do this. 

“All right, action!” Mr. Cousineau claps his hands. 

Barry chews his tongue and closes his eyes. Sally whispers that he can do this. He knows he can, he’s done worse, but never to Sally. 

He starts over. “Why were you dancing with that guy?”

“Ken? He’s just a friend, Sam.”

“I don’t care,” Barry’s voice is less interested than before. “I don’t like it, it was embarrassing. You look like a whore.” He rushes through the line, biting his lip.

“Sam… don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t call me a fucking idiot!” Barry says, louder, as if to rev himself up to choke Sally. But he stands still.

“Sam…” Sally says louder, arching her neck out for him to take. Barry doesn’t look at her. He thinks for a moment he might, but he doesn’t. “Don’t be an idiot!”

Barry stands still. If he doesn’t move, they can’t see him.

Sally begins to urge him. “Come on, Barry. Just come on.”

“Sally, I can’t choke you.”

“Come  _ on _ !” She grabs his wrist, wrenching it from the script. Mr. Cousineau watches with his arms folded. She pulls his hand toward her neck, frustrated. “Come  _ ON. _ ”

“Don’t do that. Please, Sally,” Barry says. She never hears him, it seems. “It’s just something I’m not capable of - “

She rears back and pushes him. He stumbles backwards, not prepared. He looks over to the chairs. 

“Come on, you baby.”

Barry wants to leave. He didn’t want to do this, and now they’re trying to get him to do this, and... He’s too tired. 

“Hey!” She looks like she might charge at him. He takes a step back, she takes four steps forward. “Come on!”

“Don’t say that.”

She pushes him again. Barry tries not to look too destroyed, but frankly, he’s confused. He lets his walls down to Sally, and she wants him to hurt her? Why? Mr. Cousineau just watches, interested. 

“What are you doing? Don’t do that.”

“Come on! Come on!” 

“Look, Sally…”

She grabs his chin. He feels cornered, dragging her hand away from his face. He doesn’t want this.

“Look, I know who you really are, okay?” She sounds upset. 

“Don’t touch me,” Barry says. He doesn’t want to get angry, but it seems like it’s always Sally that does this. That can get close to him and lure him to security and then take it all away. She always takes it away.  “Stop it.”

“You pretend to be this nice guy, but deep down you’re nothing but rotten and you like it.” She keeps touching him, grabbing his face, pushing him.

“What is wrong with you?” Barry frowns, trying to back away but she follows. Smiling at him. 

“That’s why you’re never gonna change and that’s why I’m gonna  _ fucking  _ leave you!” She pushes him again, hard. Barry almost falls. He doesn’t understand why this is okay. How she can just say this and expect him to act better all of a sudden? Does she  _ want  _ to leave him? Is this true?

“Why are you saying that stuff to me?” His voice is gentle. His eyes keep searching her face, but she doesn’t care. 

“Come on!” She says. “Come on!”

“Stop saying that.”

“Fucking choke me!” She yells. Barry leans away, but she follows. “Fucking do it, you fucking pussy!”

Barry bites his tongue, gripping the paper in his hands tighter and tighter. He’s telling her to stop. But she won’t.

“Fucking do it! Come on!” She’s cornered him. 

“Barry, she’s helping you,” Mr. Cousineau’s voice is calm.

Sally offers her neck, hitting her collarbone and yelling, “Come on! Come on! Choke me!” 

“Stay in the scene with her,” Mr. Cousineau says. “Let it out.”

Barry turns away. He doesn’t want to do it. They know that. His jaw is tight, he wants to escape, but there’s an audience. He turns back, pointing at them. Finally. “Fuck off!”

Sally turns to Mr. Cousineau, as if to say, “But I did everything right.”

Barry disappears around the curtain, tossing his script somewhere and rubbing his eyes. “Shit.”

“Hey, Barry, hey…” She follows. She always follows. 

Barry pushes the door open, clenching his fists. He tries to run to his car, but he can only walk, stumbling over his own feet. He wonders if he’s in the wrong. If he’s just supposed to shut up and do it, like his opinion doesn’t matter. He’s always done everything for Sally. Could she not see him, this time? She was yelling at him, surely she saw him. Now, as she follows him out, throwing apologies at the back of his head, she sees him. 

“I’m sorry, look - I took it too dar, I know, I was trying to help you with the scene - “

Barry takes a deep breath, wanting to just keep talking, but if she’s  _ actually  _ apologizing, that must mean she sees him. “I don’t know why everybody wants me to do this, okay? I don’t want to hurt anybody!”

“I know! I get it, you don’t  have to  _ hurt  _ me, it’s just acting!” She says. Barry stills. She doesn’t understand. She thinks he’s overreacting. Barry can’t breathe. “It’s just to - “

“Do you see me?” Barry holds his arms out. “I need you to tell me that you can.”

“I… yeah, Barry, I can see you,” she blinks a few times, shrugging. “What - “

“I don’t want to do this,” he says. Barry Block crawls into the back seat and Berkman wraps his fingers around the steering wheel. “Do you see me? I don’t  _ care  _ if… if it’s just acting and if I’m  _ pretending  _ but I don’t want to  _ pretend  _ to choke you. Okay? Can you see that? Can you see me? Let Nick pretend. He’s in costume.”

“Barry, I - “

“I  _ told  _ you,” Barry puts his hands over his face, “I stood there, and I told you… I don’t want you to touch me, I don’t want you to say that. I told you to  _ stop _ , and you just... “ Barry lets his hands fall. “It feels like, when you’re acting, you don’t… like, you just… don’t see me anymore. I’m just a decoration and you can just… You just say,  _ hey, Barry, you’re feeling intense pain and it’s helping me act, so do that more!  _ And then I do!” 

His voice echoes around the parking lot. He can see the shadows of an audience in the corner of his eye. But he stares at Sally. She’s crying. He wants to comfort her, but he always does and he needs to take this moment. The streetlight is a spotlight. It’s warm. 

“I love you, Sally, and if you didn’t want to pretend to choke me, I wouldn’t… fuckin’ shove you and call you a pussy in front of your actor friends, okay? Because that’s… lame. That’s a dick move,” Barry looks up to the cloudy dark sky. He breathes out. “I wouldn’t… grab your face.”

“I’m sorry, Barry.” Her voice cracks. 

“It’s…” He won’t say it’s okay. Fuches said once that saying it’s okay meant that people would do it again. “I just need you to see me, sometimes.”

“I can do that. I’ll do that,” she nods and holds her hand out. Barry looks at it for a moment. “Barry, I’m sorry, I love you too… I see you. I  _ see  _ you.”

Barry steps forward. He takes her hand and places it on his cheek, wrapping his arms around her. He rests his chin on her shoulder. 

“Thank you,” Barry murmurs. He can hear muffled applause through the door and shakes his head, holding Sally closer. 


End file.
